


but the meds don't work (Like You Wanna)

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: Altaïr gives Malik permission which is both baffling and suspicious to the later. Ultimately, Malik takes him up on it. (or Malik introspects then helps Altaïr with his somnopilia kink)





	but the meds don't work (Like You Wanna)

Malik can not help but think of the ‘offer’ Altaïr had made him now. Offer doesn't do it justice, really. ‘Offer’ suggests Altaïr wants something and has something Malik wants and is willing to trade. This was _giving_ permission.

Even now as Altaïr sleeps in his bureau, Malik isn't sure he remembers such permissions given. He also supposes that's part of the point. Malik can't help to think of this permission because for once, Altaïr is not sleeping in his usual ‘sit upright with his legs and arms crossed’ position. Even when he sleeps he doesn't remove his hood but that's not surprising anymore. No, today Altaïr has fallen asleep face down in the pile of pillows with no more grace than a newly born horse. It's rare that he sleeps even lying down so something like this is nearly unheard of.

If the way he arrived here, quieter than usual and exhausted, is any indication, he's had a long day. Malik heard there was trouble on the roads. He also is fairly certain he knows that trouble’s name.

What Malik doesn't know is _why_ Altaïr has given him such ‘permissions’. It was brought up on his own several visits to Jerusalem ago with no warning and little tact. As with most topics, Malik has learned to take things in stride with Altaïr. If he gives the man so much as an inch, he'll take until there's nothing left. This is usually an act of greed but with Altaïr, sometimes it seems showing him even dislike burns him to the bone. Malik doesn't think he means near enough to Altaïr for his scorn to matter to him but it is a slippery slope from ‘shocked and abhorrent’ to Altaïr returning to fewer and colder words with him again.

They've just started to get along again.

Perhaps too much, Malik thinks offhandedly. They've never laid together before and until this permission, Malik wouldn't have thought Altaïr interested in such things let alone with him. In the past, Malik had always thought he was jealous of Altaïr, how Altaïr was somehow always just a little _better_ at everything he did regardless of how little he seemed to try or how little he seemed to care. It wasn't until recently, the lack of his arm recently, that he realised he was less jealous of what Altaïr had and more the fact that Malik didn't have him. That jealousy didn't go away when Altaïr showed something besides perfection- a fact that really only made Malik even more furious.

Though he can't deny even before that his mind had tantalized him with thoughts of lying with Altaïr on more than one occasion. Perhaps that should have been more obvious of a sign.

But Altaïr- he doesn't want to lie together. Malik still isn't sure what exactly it is he wants or why exactly he's done this, _permissed_ this. Carnal desire? Why Malik then? Does he pin for Malik and if he does, why like this? Can he not bare to be touched by another man otherwise? Why even bother then? Maybe it is guilt? Has his mind somehow twisted Malik’s words, unsaid gazes and thoughts, to think this is something Malik wants from him? Does he want to give Malik this _intimacy_ but again, can't stomach it upfront?

Perhaps a trap? If Altaïr wanted to do him harm, slander his name or blackmail him, he has plenty of ways of going about it already, why would he need another? Even if he does need another, why this way? It would be as much of a blow to his own ego as it would to Malik’s reputation. Altaïr isn't nearly that sacrificial enough and unless Malik has missed something huge, doesn't have any reason to do such a thing now.

Has someone else put him up to this?

It was not a joke, Malik doesn't think Altaïr has it in him to make or take a joke in any regard, honestly. The way he offered it wasn't rushed or unclear, either. As usual, he made it quite clear what he wanted- his face the stone beast it always is. He has no shame, Malik knows as much already, but even this was unprecedented. Malik knows he did not ‘misunderstand’. What was he to do? He simply assured Altaïr that he had heard and would ‘keep that in mind’. End of conversation.

And thought about it Malik has, how could he not? He won't deny the idea is- not unappealing. Strange, of course, but not in a way he finds revolting to any degree.

Something moves outside the bureau walls and Altaïr is awake. It's not immediately apparent but Malik knows. He's an assassin, too, after all, even if one not as good as Altaïr. Though he doesn't move immediately either, Malik can tell Altaïr is listening for potential threats and assessing the current possibility of being attacked. It's during this that he realises Malik is staring at him and lifts his head minutely. Malik does not stop staring.

After a few seconds, Altaïr reorients himself. Malik isn't a threat to him, not right now at any rate, and he pushes himself up and into his normal sleeping position before going back to sleep.

Malik isn't even sure how Altaïr expects him to go about such a thing. If he were to so much as take a step into Altaïr proximity while he's sleeping, he'd be awake in a second and yet Altaïr has given him this ‘permission’ to have his way with him while he sleeps? Surely he knows this. Even if he didn't awaken from Malik being near, from Malik touching him, even if he didn't awake from a stray sound too close by or too out of place, even if a gentle breeze didn't warn him that something’s coming with its lies- Altaïr awakens periodically of his own volition.

It would be, quite honestly, impossible.

Malik has thought about this more than he intended to.

He returns to his mapping. He can not sleep.

\- x -

“Leaving?” Malik asks and that alone gives Altaïr reason to pause. He glances back, eyes always hidden by his hood, even in the presence of his own brothers, and even if they weren't, Malik is well aware that Altaïr doesn't look at people. Sees them, as an assassin does, but doesn't look. He recalls a few events in their life, mentors and arrogant men, with even less right to be than Altaïr himself, _commanding_ Altaïr to look at them. He recalls the inevitable shock, the surprise, and no matter how mute, the fear when Altaïr obeys. Altaïr is not made for looking.

“I have finished my task,” Altaïr says like he expects Malik to scorn him again for having forgotten something or maybe just for having not done it as he wanted. Malik has found himself beyond empty insults used only to make himself feel better now. “Do you need something?”

“From you? No,” Malik assures. Altaïr doesn't say anything but doesn't leave, obviously now too curious about what this is about. He won't ask, won't even show, but Malik knows this. That's just how Altaïr is. “Were you serious about that ‘offer’, Altaïr?”

“Offer?” Altaïr repeats. He truly has forgotten. Malik has no idea _how_ but then again, he has greater things on his mind and honestly, Malik will take any excuse not to think about some of the things on his own.

“Do you really offer it to so many that you've forgotten?” Malik comments, perhaps more sharp than he truly intended. If it is carnal desire, Malik would have to be a fool to think it's for him. Altaïr could have given the permission to any number of other men, other women even. Altaïr still airs perplexity. “How was it you phrased it? To take from you what I want while you-”

“Yes,” Altaïr says before he finishes, clearly having recalled it now. “I was serious.” Malik continues on his mapping and Altaïr continues not to move. A moment passes uneventfully.

“Stay the night,” Malik finally says. “It's a long ride to Masyaf, brother.” Altaïr is quiet. He doesn't show hesitation, not uncertainty or nervousness, but he doesn't show anything else, either. When does he ever? Malik has made his intentions clear and if Altaïr wants to leave, he will. He doesn't.

In retrospect, Malik supposes it's strange he knows how much Altaïr weights with a reasonable account for error.

The sun is still awake, though, if not drowsy, and Altaïr spends some time cleaning himself in the fountain- no matter how many times Malik tells him not to wash himself _directly_ from the fountain water. He doesn't undress. He doesn't remove his hood. Malik brews some tea. They don't talk but when have they ever.

Altaïr tends to his weapons.

“Tea?” Malik offers. “It will help you sleep.” Altaïr approaches his counter again, looks at the tea offered to him and a brief, subtle grimace passes his mouth at the scent. Strong, overwhelming really, not meant for the soft fragrance of tea. The taste leaves something to be desired Malik hears. He wonders if Altaïr is aware, consciously or otherwise, that this won't, _can't_ happen unless he drinks.

“Thank you,” Altaïr says though he doesn't drink right away, instead holding the warm cup like he's preparing himself to drink it all at once.

“There's no reason to worry,” Malik assures. He's not sure if Altaïr does. “Our creed may not approve of using such methods but that doesn't mean we don't know how. As I said, it will help you sleep.” Altaïr doesn't say anything. He drinks, a large mouthful at first and then slower when he seems to realise it's not as bad as he thought.

“Why do you want this?” Malik asks. Altaïr doesn't look at him but he never does. A lack of eye contact is usually a sign of dishonesty, especially to an assassin keyed in to reading body language, and at best, it's disrespectful. No one ever seems to notice, or mention, anymore that Altaïr has never aherred to such things. Then again, most people don't like him to begin with. Malik doesn't mind.

“Have you never desired a thrill, brother?” Altaïr replies. So it is reasonless lust, pure and simple. Malik doesn't think he's surprised. “That is what I want. I suppose I find something thrilling about allowing someone I trust to- do as they want.” Malik can't help the way he inherently jolts. _Trust_? Lust he understands but trust? After everything that has happened between them, even after they have come to understand each other, Malik _never_ assumed that _trust_ was a possibility. Altaïr _trusts_ him? _Why_? If anything, the very opposite should be true. There are any number of reasons Malik in particular would want to do him harm; bodily, psychologically, and emotionally.

This isn't a lie, Malik knows that. Altaïr doesn't have a good enough grasp of emotional intelligence to lie. Lying takes intent, it takes knowing what another person wants and what they're willing to give for it to bend them into cutting their own throats. Altaïr only knows punching and blood. That does not make him an honest man, anything but. Altaïr lies in the words he doesn't say but then again, that's most of them.

“I-” Altaïr begins. “Grow tired, Dai. I think I'll rest for the night.” He's finished his tea and the ‘tired’ that takes him is not his own. He already looks physically exhausted when he walks away but he manages to make it to his usual sleeping spot among the pillows and settle into his usual sleeping position. He sleeps willingly but once he does, the drug affects him even harder. Normally, Altaïr can sleep upright even while standing but tonight, the sedative has weakened him too much and shortly after he sleeps, he collapses onto his side- softened by the pillows.

Malik twists his mouth. _Trust_. Though he's said as much, and perhaps on more than one occasion thought it honestly, he knows Altaïr is not a fool. Even if Malik means him no harm, not at the moment at any rate, from Altaïr’s view, trusting him is foolish. He doesn't act immediately, still thinking and mulling it over. Never in his ‘fantasies’ did he imagine the first time they shared a night would be with Altaïr unconscious.

Still, Malik isn't exactly sure what Altaïr is expecting. If he expects to wake up, naked and ravished and sore or if he truly expects Malik to do all the work and be left with only the unmistakable hints that he had been fucked during the night. Perhaps he expected to wake up right on the edge of his orgasm but with the sedative, that's supremely unlikely. If Malik does nothing, would Altaïr even know? Would he ask?

Are there days when he awakens from a particularly deep sleep where he thinks something has happened but won't say?

Malik steps from behind his counter, no more slow or quiet than he ever would, but he supposes those are the kinds of things he does without thinking. This alone would be enough to pull Altaïr from his shallow sleep on a normal day but tonight, Altaïr doesn't budge. Malik comes closer, breaches Altaïr’s ‘outer’ personal space and then his ‘inner’ one, to stand over him curiously. Still not even a shift. Altaïr could probably use a sleep like this more often. Even Malik doesn't wake for shadows but then again, he's not the Master Assassin.

With his foot, Malik rolls Altaïr onto his back. The only difference between him and a corpse is the soft exhale Altaïr makes like even while he's asleep he wants to complain. This is more than proof enough that the sedative has worked as intended. He moves Altaïr’s legs from their crooked position with a couple nudges of his foot before really looking him over, now sure there's no harm in it. Malik supposes there wasn't a harm before but Altaïr is always so _perceptive_ to when Malik is staring at him- sometimes Malik thinks he knows _where_ he is staring and _why_.

He crouches down and pushes Altaïr’s hood back, properly looking off his face as he nearly never does. Malik doesn't think he's missing much with his eyes closed, they're always cast down anyways. From crouching, he kneels and steadies himself enough to lean over and press his lips to Altaïr’s. The scar across his lips feels more obvious than it really is, Malik having thought about how it would feel many times. He pulls back, looks at Altaïr’s sleeping face, and considers.

Gently, almost still afraid to wake him, Malik uses his thumb to part Altaïr’s bottom lip faintly before kissing him again, this time pressing his tongue between them. Altaïr is still, though, only breathing as Malik traces his teeth and the ridges of his mouth- his scar. He gets a small response when he presses his tongue to Altaïr’s but overwhelmingly, it's more like kissing a dead fish. Malik doesn't have much faith in Altaïr being a better kisser in his waking hour. He presses further, giving a slight bite, a gentle suck, even using a finger to push Altaïr’s tongue against the bottom of his mouth. He remains asleep, though, and Malik is free to kiss him until he's satisfied with this interaction.

Malik will admit there's something appealing to this from his side, regardless of what appeals to Altaïr about being _unconscious_. In his waking hour, Altaïr is one problem after another needing to be conquered. Even with his behavior, and attitude, having improved recently, he's still a beast of which Malik has never dealt with prior and wouldn't wish upon anyone else. Doing this while he's awake sounds like it would go much the way a fight would, Altaïr refusing to give, or _take_ , anything he doesn't want to, always awaiting the perfect time to counter, awaiting the killing strike: another competition he has to be best at.

Contrary to popular belief, sex isn't a contest and trying to have it as such very quickly becomes- exhausting. At least in this manner it isn't a constant power struggle- and Malik would _never_ give Altaïr the satisfaction of an _easy_ win.

He makes the decision that there's no reason to strip Altaïr completely nude and, in fact, would probably be a bad idea. Malik doesn't intend to leave him to wake up naked and exposed and with his one arm, there's no way he'd get him redressed. That also sounds like a lot of effort on his part. He suddenly feels like this whole thing was a ruse to get him to do all of the work but Malik presses on. He takes off Altaïr’s belt, his sash, then halter. How he can ever sleep with these things is beyond Malik.

A pile of Altaïr’s things form close by, leaving him looking a very different man with his face revealed and his equipment removed. Almost like an actual scholar, _almost_ harmless looking. With all his excess things dealt with, Malik pauses again to decide where to go from here. He pushes Altaïr’s robe open and his shirt underneath is both cleaner and not; his own blood staining spots where he's been cut through his robe and left it stained but the areas between still cleaner.

Malik slowly runs his hand up Altaïr’s leg and under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up a little at a time as he feels the firm but relaxed muscles of his belly. Always just a little better than him, Malik remembers and with it, remembers that jealousy that still irks him. This is just pleasure, no matter what ‘trust’ Altaïr speaks of. This no more makes Altaïr his than it makes them lovers. Perhaps that's for the best. He follows the coarse hairs that line his abdomen back down to the strings of his pants.

Fortunately, Malik has become quite accustomed to doing everyday tasks like this with only one hand and he makes short work of the strings. He wonders if he would be this tender with Altaïr if he was awake, if Altaïr would let him- if he'd let himself. Perhaps Altaïr would find it insulting, like Malik thinks he's fragile, or maybe he likes that sort of thing. He likes the thrill of being manhandled while he sleeps though, Malik wouldn't assume ‘tender’ is high on his list of desires.

Altaïr’s cock is still unsurprisingly soft when Malik pushes his pants down beneath it. He strokes it and Altaïr exhales a pleasant sounding noise, an assurance that he definitely still feels it and his body definitely still processes it as pleasure even if he won't remember it. At most, it might elicit some ‘interesting’ dreams for Altaïr. It takes a little more effort than Malik was expecting to get Altaïr erect while he sleeps, stroking him evenly and watching as the soft skin stiffens and tightens under his hand until it's solid hard and twitching. He glides his finger over the tip, teases the fringe between his thumb and finger, and watches precum bead to his slit. Altaïr makes a low, muffled noise that is likely a moan.

He always has to be just a _little_ better, doesn't he? Altaïr’s hard cock is larger than his own, both in length and width but more so in the later, and Malik scoffs minutely as he holds it around the base briefly to look at. He turns his attention to unlacing his own pants and pushes his hand down them to stroke at his own swelling prick. They've never laid together and as such, Malik has no idea what Altaïr likes but then again, he doesn't think Altaïr cares. Likewise, Altaïr had no way of knowing what Malik would _want_ to do to him and didn't ask anyways.

The idea of ‘trust’ makes him snort again. He's sure Altaïr trusts him not to stray over any lines that he thinks Malik knows about. Malik has no intention of trying to taint this misplaced trust and with what he wants, he doubts he will, but he can't help but wonder. Would Altaïr be upset to find Malik had taken a blade to his skin? Carved his name, perhaps, no matter how shallow? Or if he were awaken a little too sore, stretched too far too quickly and unable to walk like he wants to? Would he be mad if he couldn't speak right with an unmistakable taste lingering in his mouth?

Unmistakable, he thinks, but they've never laid together and honestly, Malik has no proof Altaïr has laid with _anyone_ before. Who else could he trust? Another of their brothers? Malik certainly doesn't think so. Al Mualim? This idea leaves a foul taste in Malik’s mouth he paws off as that jealousy again.

The idea of taking Altaïr’s virginity in his sleep, though? Malik is disappointed how alluring that is to him. Perhaps that's a contributing reason for Altaïr wanting _this_. Again, he looks over Altaïr’s face, the slightest of wrinkles putting him in a mute, disgruntled expression. Malik strokes his cock again and it fades into a more pleased one.

Easily, Malik hoists a leg over Altaïr’s thighs and pins them between his knees. He pulls his own sash off and disregards it in its own pile along with his darker robe before pushing aside the one underneath. Even his weight on Altaïr doesn’t stir him. Malik moves to push his erect cock against Altaïr’s and the contact alone makes Malik shudder. He wraps his hand around them both, listens as Altaïr exhales a pleasured sigh, and rocks his hips slowly.

This isn't something Malik has experienced before, either. Usually his encounters are hasty and rough, surely a telling of the sorts of men he likes. Altaïr is still, though, and it falls on Malik alone to touch and rub them leading to something much slower. He can feel everything so clearly now; the intense heat, the way the tips of their cocks catch with every thrust, the off rhythm pulse, and the slick, hot precum that leaks down his hand. Malik rasps out a noise as he uses his hand to stroke them faster, chasing his own pleasure in a way he's never really done before.

“Mal…”

Malik stops. Altaïr’s voice is distance and the rest of his name is consumed between the sleep that still claims him. Malik breathes, evening his breath and catching those loose desires again. He does think he's missing out on Altaïr calling his name even if he's not sure he'd even do that were he awake. Malik gets back to his feet, straightens his clothes enough to keep his pants at his hip as he strays back inside. He takes the pot of grease he had set aside earlier in preparation and returns again. He prefers oil but it's messier.

Again, Malik kneels beside Altaïr and he briefly touches his achingly hard cock again before pulling his pants down a little further. He cups Altaïr’s testicles in his hand, applying a gentle pressure as he kneads them before allowing his hand to stray lower. There's no tenseness while Altaïr sleeps and while Malik can feel Altaïr’s strong thighs flex instinctively around his hand when he strokes a finger over that tight ring of muscles, he doesn't clench.

He twists the top off of his grease pot and dips his index and middle finger in it, using his thumb to work it in a little better. Then he returns his hand between Altaïr’s thighs, stroking a pair of fingers against his hole and making Altaïr breath another noise. Malik slowly pushes a finger in, finding him tight but still relaxed. If he's this tight when he's relaxed-

Malik takes his time, slowly working Altaïr with one finger and then two when it's easy to push it in alongside. It's rare that he wishes he had his arm back, such thoughts only make accepting his truth harder, but he can't help but long to be able to touch himself simultaneously. Instead, he settles for touching Altaïr. Using two fingers to patiently prepare him, twisting and spreading and curling, Malik bows his head to take Altaïr’s dripping cock between his lips.

Perhaps it's better he can't touch himself, Malik is sure he could have come twice over by now. He's not sure if Altaïr really is a virgin or if he's just normally this tight, but it takes some time to properly stretch him at this gradual, easy pace. Likewise, Malik is sure not to offer quite enough stimulation to let Altaïr come so easily. He keeps his lips only around the tip, using his tongue to tease the slit, and his slick thumb traces the soft section between his asshole and balls, now knuckle deep in his preparation.

Altaïr is audibly noisy even if most of the noises are quiet and muffled, barely making their way out of his throat before they fade away in his sleep. Malik can hear various bits of his name occasionally and he attributes it to Altaïr being aware this was going to happen when he fell asleep, little else. He withdraws his fingers and again, takes in the sight of Altaïr; disheveled and panting.

With a little effort, Malik manages to roll Altaïr onto his stomach. He assures his face is sideways and not suffocated in the pillows before tugging the waistband of his pants down below his ass. Like most of him, his rear is toned and Malik runs his hand over one appreciatively, then the other. He pushes his thumb along the crevice between them and pulls just enough to see Altaïr’s shiny, stretched, and twitching hole.

Taking his time with this has been to no one's benefit but his own. Altaïr surely would have been just as content had Malik rolled him over and ravished him roughly from the go-get. Now, though, Malik is becoming impatient. He dips his fingers in the grease again and this time, coats his own eager hard on with it. Again, he throws one knee over Altaïr’s thighs and straddles him from the back this time. Malik strokes his cock with a small groan before rutting between Altaïr’s cheeks.

Slowly, he presses the head of his hard cock against Altaïr’s stretched ass and watches as he sinks in inch by inch. Even stretched, Altaïr’s tight muscles clench around him, clinging to the foreign intruder and leaving a murmured groan on Altaïr’s lazy lips. He's unbearably hot, inside and out. Malik shudders and impatiently thrusts the rest of his cock in hilt deep, feeling Altaïr tighten around him. He can hear Altaïr’s raspy breathing, uneven and aroused, and Malik has to catch his own.

The first few thrusts are easy even if not particularly slow, Malik grinding into him as he finds how best to use this position and Altaïr’s sleeping body to his advantage. Even if he tries to be relatively gentle, still not completely sure if this is Altaïr’s first _anything_ , Malik doesn't even consider himself a gentle man. While he can't say he hasn't enjoyed this so far, there's something disappointing about not having to wrestle Altaïr into position, pin him down, and watch him smugly grin and moan as Malik fucks him raw. Next time, maybe, if Altaïr is even interested in sex beyond this bizarre circumstance.

Malik pushes his hand between Altaïr’s still clothed shoulder blades to steady himself, only mildly regretting depriving himself of the site of Altaïr’s strong back flexing beneath him as he squirms in pleasure. His thrusts grow quicker and harder until he can even hear the sound of skin against skin. He's tantalized by the idea of Altaïr being sore when he awakens, bruised and stained, and it only urges him rougher. Come morning, he wants Altaïr to _feel_ him.

It's much too easy to get caught up trying to make himself feel good when Altaïr is, largely, not participating actively. Aside from his noises and the way his body inherently moves, rutting hips and twitching fingers, he's still very sedated. Malik allows himself this. He's pulled Altaïr to the edge more than once tonight and it shows, though. Altaïr clenches down on him suddenly and Malik grunts, instinctively bucking his hips forward to fully embrace the new tightness. A soft, small exhale leaves Altaïr and Malik curiously reaches beneath him to feel his cock, softening and spent now.

From there, Malik truly is only interested in himself. He fucks Altaïr to his heart’s desire, groaning as he grows closer and closer. Every snap of the hips is so hard now, it rocks Altaïr against the pillows he's haphazardly lain on. Malik palms the back of his neck as he comes, giving several punctual thrusts to assure Altaïr’s insides are thoroughly claimed for the night. He catches his breath and runs his hand down Altaïr’s back before paling his firm ass again.

Malik parts his cheeks with his thumb, watching Altaïr’s tight hole still try to cling to him as he slowly pulls out his softening cock. Cum leaks out after him and the sight sends a shudder down Malik’s back. While he's very tempted to wait and do it again, a part of him not sure he'll get another chance, he decides against it. Instead, he tucks himself away and laces his pants back up before doing the same for Altaïr, pulling his pants back up but leaving them unlaced.

It would be easy to go back to his own bed now, it's much more comfortable, but Malik doesn't. A part of him enjoys the rare comfort of another person near but more importantly, he wants to know what Altaïr will do when he awakens. He settles into the pillows beside Altaïr’s sleeping figure, giving them a fair distance of space, and dozes off. The night is still young and honestly, Altaïr could use this sleep.

Altaïr awakens sooner than later and when he awakens, naturally so does Malik. Unsurprisingly, Altaïr can't even wait for the sedative to wear off completely and instead, the second it no longer possess the strength to keep him under, he's trying to fight it off. This only leads to him still being drowsy and a state of alarm immediately takes him. This only seems to amplify when he realises he doesn't have any weapons on him. Altaïr hastily pulls his hood up and tries to control his labored, forced breathing the poor combination of panic and drugs has left him in.

Malik makes no move to comfort him. He may be unarmed but Malik isn't too interested in getting a black eye or an impromptu tooth removal. He just stays still and relaxed, not pretending to still sleep but nonetheless using his own skill to disguise his inherent threat. It takes a few moments, but Altaïr finally settles when his memory catches up to him and he realises he willing was drugged and, in fact, was not captured to be hung. Once relaxed again, he takes in his surroundings, briefly honing in on Malik, before a visible shiver takes him.

Altaïr lets out a shaky exhale and impatiently, he adjusts himself up on his knees with his face pushed into a pillow. He shoves his hand down his pants and a hot grunt leaves him as he explores what Malik has done. Not much, honestly, but more than enough for Altaïr. Without stall, and even less shame, he steadies himself on his shoulders to stroke his cock in one hand and fingers himself with the other.

Malik can't see much, Altaïr’s robes covering him well, but he can hear just fine. Altaïr’s grunts and pants are thick with arousal and the slick, wet sound of his fingers hastily working his stretched, cum slick ass have no rhythm. It's equally as temping to offer him a hand but he doesn't seem to want it; Altaïr is far too aware he is both awake and watching.

“Malik,” he rasps, his tongue pushing against the scar that tears his lip. _Far_ too aware. Whether he's truly aroused that much by this or he's still feeling the effects from his last orgasm, he comes quickly. He collapses back down in a series of pants and Malik makes a half hearted attempt to will his newly forming erection away. Altaïr smirks.

“You surprise me, Malik,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “I didn't think you could get off with a sleeping person.” Malik honestly doesn't know what to do with this statement. It was _his_ idea- and _want_. Did he really only want to know if Malik would actually do it? ‘Thrilling’ because he wanted to see Malik _debauch_ himself?

Malik gets to his feet and Altaïr stops smiling. Irritably, he returns to his own private sleeping quarters.

“Malik-” Altaïr says after him.

“ _Goodnight_ , Altaïr,” Malik replies shortly. He's not sure what he was expecting.

“Goodnight Malik.”


End file.
